First off, my
humble apologies for the lateness of this; I've been busy beyond my wildest
nightmares lately – the only time I've had to myself was to watch the
ever-welcome, if terribly heart-rending, return of Formula One. So a vast,
delighted thank you to all the amazing, special and thoughtful people who
commented the last time round; thank you for being so patient and for giving me
your muchly valued thoughts, opinions and criticisms; proper thanks, as ever,
are below.
Anything you have
to say would be utterly adored, pored over, cherished and worshipped :-) I
thrive on feedback, it is the icing on the delicious cake of writing, so please
make my life sweeter and tell me what you think! Comments, criticisms, rants,
raves, questions, demands are all very welcome, and I would be eternally
grateful if you give a moment of your time to review.
Author's Note:
Fidelis is a Latin word. I'm sure you can guess what it means. If not, give me
a yell.
Hanging On Part
Fifteen
She was in a village. In a village, in her
spirit body, pale and insubstantial as a ghost.
That, Andrea understood. And there was the
boy, the streetboy who had travelled so far to save her, riding with three
people she didn't know at all. One a noble girl, whose face was icy pale, as
though she drowned in chill waters. One a squire, a stocky girl whose eyes were
hard with determination. And one a mage, whose true face lay under an
enchantment but shone through to her eyes with the iridescence of a dragonfly's
wings. All this she saw.
And her heart turned to lead as she saw the
black-clad man.
Him. The Executioner, who had brought her to
the gallows and but for the intervention of the streetboy, would have killed
her.
Beware! She wanted to shout, but knew they
would never hear her, this ghost of a girl. Run, run quickly! He is not a man,
he is an evil thing!
And as the man and his crowd of soulless
villagers charged, she could only watch, a ghost that no one saw or heard.
* * * *
Cleon of Kennan sighed and stretched lazily.
The winter sun was bright and warming on his back. Not far to go now, he
thought. Soon be back to the palace for Spring Equinox. It was a comforting
thought. Back with all his friends, with know-it-all Neal, quiet Seaver,
Faleron who had more noblewomen chasing him than Cleon had hot dinners, and of
course, his grin widened, Kel.
"I don't know what you're looking so cheerful
about, squire," Inness, Kel's brother and Cleon's knight-master said grumpily.
"We've leagues to ride yet, and in this company too."
Cleon shrugged happily. He knew Inness didn't
really mind travelling with the Fifth Riders, who they had meant in Port Legann
some weeks back and been travelling through the country with of late, or with
Sir Paxton, who, strict old devil that he was, at least didn't talk much.
No, it was Joren of Stone Mountain Inness
didn't like and didn't bother to hide.
The blond page rode up ahead, as far away as
possible. His hair shone blood-red in the light of the setting sun. More like
his true colour, Cleon thought. Yes, Joren and Kel might have called this
unlikely truce a while back, but he didn't trust him one bit.
"You all right there?" said the Riders'
leader, a freckled, quirky girl called Miri. She had slowed down to talk to
them. "I know this might sound a little strange, Sir Inness, but...we haven't
been attacked in weeks."
Kel's brother frowned, and looked very like
his younger sister then. Cleon eavesdropped unashamedly – that was what squires
*did*. "I know. It's been bothering me
too. Since we hit Dunholt and Farbrook, the lands seem to have been empty of
immortals. It was quiet when Cleon and I rode up this way too...very strange,
this place was overrun but a month or two back."
"We've not passed a village that's said
anything to us about killing one either," remarked the Rider girl, absently
patting her horse's head. "And they're usually so proud of it, too."
"No one in the villages has said *anything*
at all lately," remarked Inness, his frown deepening. "Never mind about
immortals."
"Sir?" Cleon cut in, flushing slightly as
they both realised he had been listening. "There was that one village, where
you stopped to take a stone out of Nightshade's hoof..."
Inness shrugged. "Yes, but I went into the
smith's to beg a new shoe and he didn't say a word."
"Not to you, sir," Cleon muttered, "but his
apprentice came over and...well, he asked me something very odd."
"Odd?" Miri's eyebrows arched. "Define odd,
Cleon."
"He asked if either of us were Gifted," Cleon
said, faintly puzzled. "And I thought you know, maybe it was because someone
was ill, but when I asked, he just told me...that no, everyone here had been
cured of their ills. And he laughed. It was...strange."
"You didn't mention this earlier," Inness
said sharply.
"I didn't think anything of it, truth to
tell," he answered. "Village folk can be a bit bizarre. Round my way, they were
all half-afraid of me. I don't know why, one of them kept muttering about
monsters and my family." Cleon grinned. "We aren't *that* bad."
Miri snorted. "You nobles. Such a high
opinion of yourselves."
However, his knight-master didn't seem to be
taking it as lightly. "We'd best press on," he said. "Next village—"
Suddenly they saw a bolt of black streak past
them. Cleon whipped round to stare after it; it was a hawk, flying uncommonly
low, and as he watched, it turned and pelted back to land amidst them, then
shapeshifted into the form of a tall and extremely clothes-less man.
"Master Numair?" Inness said, throwing him a
cloak as Miri went scarlet and turned her head. The mage had bruises all over
his face, and a gash bleeding down his side. "What's going on..."
"Listen!" the mage snapped. They all silenced
and faintly, at the very edges of his hearing, Cleon heard—
Screaming, dreadful and unnatural sounds like
a pack of wolves mingled with tigers.
"The village up ahead," the mage said
briefly. "Some of our own are in there – ride fast. You're fighting
shapeshifters. Sir Inness—" His voice halted the knight as he began to ride
off. Cleon stopped also; Inness *was* his knight-master.
"Master Salmalin?" the knight said tersely as
the Riders left. "Hurry, if as you say—"
"Keladry is in there," the mage said, his
dark eyes sorrowed and exhausted. "And two of my students, young mages. Do not do
anything in haste. I will join you shortly."
Inness's face tightened at the thought of his
younger sister in there and Cleon felt his own heart clench with fear. Mithros
guard Kel, he thought. She's a friend I can't bear to lose.
Inness spurred the horse down the road, his
face set with rage. Had he glanced behind him, Cleon would have seen the tall
mage collapse, slowly creasing up on himself until he was a black heap in the
road.
But Cleon saw nothing.
Something else, however, did.
* * * *
Andrea felt Ryan Talver die, felt his life
snuff out like a candle without even a wisp of smoke left behind it, and she
*screamed*, throwing all her magic, all her soul after this boy to who she was
linked in some inexplicable way by her gods.
But there was nothing. Not a flicker of his
Gift to cling to, only the hollow, hushed space where he should have been.
~ Mithros! ~ She shouted for her god, her
champion. ~ Mithros, answer me! ~
The silence rolled around her. And Andrea got
angry.
How *dare* he abandon her? How *dare* he
ignore her, and let her be caught and imprisoned by that foul beast that back
there, back where her body was, was hurting her? How dare he let this boy, who
was the only one who cared enough to search for her, die?
~ MITHROS! ~ she shrieked furiously at the
sky. ~ You *will* answer me! ~
Winds screamed around her.
~ You *dare* summon *me*? ~ the voice of her
god bellowed in outrage, echoing as the deepest cavern. ~ A mortal? ~
~ *Your* mortal! ~ Andrea shouted furiously,
forgetting his power. ~ You chose me, now you damn well protect me! ~
A pause, and then booming laughter filled the
air. Mithros appeared in front of her, as ghostly as she herself, his stern
eyes hot as the sun, but his mouth smiling. ~ Little mortal, you impress me, ~
he said. ~ Why do you call? ~
~ The boy! ~ she said desperately. In her
ghost form, she stepped through the fallen bodies, a silent dancer amongst this
dreadful tableau. She was a golden being, a torch within the foul and choking
darkness that ringed this place.
She stopped by her streetboy saviour, and
stared down. His face was the bland pale colour of flour, and along his throat
ran that thick line of darkening crimson, ragged as a madman's grin.
For me, she thought in anguish. It is I who
did this.
~ Please, ~ she said, turning terrified eyes
to her god, ~ Please, save him. Bring him back. ~
~ The souls of mortals are beyond my grasp, ~
Mithros answered, and there seemed to be something like sorrow in his voice.
Looking into his eyes, which had become dark and silent as an open grave, she
saw he spoke true. ~ I can only touch their lives, for life is guided and
decided. But death is chance, and it is a game even gods cannot hope to win. ~
~ No, ~ she said softly, denying it. In her
face, the god could see something shattering, such loss in her eyes. ~ The only
person who has cared anything about me, and you let him die? ~
~ It is so, child, ~ a new voice said.
Andrea spun, and the Goddess was there,
simple in a black shift that seemed to glow with the trapped colours of the
nights. She was beautiful beyond any mortal woman, but it was a hard, gemlike
beauty. Not warm or living, and perhaps not even real.
~ You were supposed to look after him! ~
Andrea said wildly.
The Goddess's smoky gaze reminded the girl of
the fell marshlights, the luminous green lights that lured travellers to their
death in the murky waters. ~ This is magic beyond me, child. We gods have
little power where belief has been forsaken. Belief is what gives us our
strength...and so many of these mortals have traded their belief for the
shadow-magic. ~
~ No! ~ Andrea shouted ferociously. Her face
was fierce as a vixen defending her den. ~ I won't let it be true! I won't! ~
She knelt by the
boy's body, barely noticing the herd of new people, of horsemen stampeding
through the masses of beasts that snuffled and yowled at the swirling edges of
night that pushed out the bleeding orange sun. She didn't notice the
girl-squire who was close by, still feebly fighting the creatures that attacked
her.
Her magic rolled around her like a golden
cloak, making the air curiously warm, though no onlooker would have seen
anything amiss. Healing the fatal gash along his throat took but a second, yet
though his body was whole, it was empty of his soul.
Andrea noticed nothing but the flat and fixed
grey of this boy's eyes, the gateway to where his spirit had fled. Slowly,
slowly, she drew on the Gift that simmered within her. Those dead eyes, with
their expanse of stony, shrunken grey and the two black abysses within them.
She willed herself down that gloomy tunnel, along the path his soul had flown
for the Realms of the Dead, wanted it, craved it with every fibre of her being—
She was falling, tumbling frantically down
that long and empty channel into endless shadows, her magic leaving a trail of
golden light behind her to guide her back.
She fell and thought she heard wisps of
voices she had once known floating around her among weeping and wailing and
sorrow that weighed on her like fathoms of choking black water.
"...never have been born..."
"...must run faster, my daughter..."
"...come back,
come back, we miss you so..."
And then a light,
looming at the end of this cold tunnel as unearthly winds made her hair stream
behind her like a golden veil, a bright blue light that exploded into her eyes—
She was in the Realms of the Dead.
* * * *
Mithros glanced at the Goddess. "Mortals," he
said dryly. "They have so little faith in us."
"They can only
believe what they know," the Goddess said mildly. Her face, to Mithros, was not
that of an inhumanly beautiful woman, but merely the personification of
feminism; at one and the same, he saw in her the child, snub-nosed and
innocent, the bold and lovely maiden, the shielding mother and even the raddled
crone, wise and fearsome. "And all that girl-child has known is prejudice and
hatred. We cannot expect her trust."
The sun-god sighed, making his burnished
armour glint golden in the light of the dripping sun. "Still, she was painfully
easy to fool," he said with a touch of dourness. "Mortal lives are beyond us
indeed!" He snorted. "We're *gods*. The universe itself is but a toy in our
grip."
"A fragile toy, all the same," the Goddess
cautioned. "We must be careful not to break it. What do you think of our young
cubs?"
The god's piercing gaze became thoughtful.
"Their magic may one day rival our own," he said finally. "I have seen grown
magic-mortals—"
"Mages," corrected the goddess firmly.
Mithros was inclined to have his head in the clouds – no pun intended – most of
the time, while she kept herself far more involved with mortal affairs; after
all, it was women who had the practical hard work, while the men sought battle
glory and fame, for the most part.
"Very well, grown mages unable to travel to
the Realms of the Dead. And yet this child, this Andrea Kirisra, managed in a
few breaths."
"Well," purred a new voice, heavy as silk and
slightly rasping, "If the sun-god ever deigned to look down at his oversized
feet occasionally, he might have noticed that mortals have grown more
powerful."
A small black cat had simply appeared and
twined itself around the Goddess's feet before leaping to her shoulder in one
swift, graceful motion.
"My feet are not oversized," replied Mithros
indignantly as the Goddess and the cat shared a secret, feline smile. "I'm a
god; therefore, I am perfection. All feet should be measured in relation to
mine."
"Dear me," said the cat disdainfully. "You
gods do seem to find the concept of a joke so difficult to grasp."
"Not all of us,
little one," the Goddess murmured, stroking the glossy black fur. "You are
however right; mortals grow ever stronger. Look."
All three turned to stare at the carnage
before them. "They have so much power they believe they no longer need us," the
Goddess said softly, her voice the soft murmur of a brook.
"What dark sorcery is this?" scowled
Mithros, for the first time noticing the true horror of the scene. Jets of
lightning leapt from his hair as he began to smoulder in fury. "Why was I not
told of this?"
"You were too busy ruling the world," the cat
muttered. "Obsessive dictators always seem to miss their downfalls."
"You will tame that beast!" barked the god.
The Goddess raised a perfect eyebrow. "You
can take a cat from the wild, brother, but you can never take the wild from a
cat." She stroked the cat, and it wriggled and purred upon her shoulder.
"Fidelis is entitled to his opinion."
The cat blinked its deep purple eyes smugly
at the god, who glared back. That stare would have killed anyone mortal, but
the cat began to wash its face disinterestedly.
"As it happens," the Goddess said calmly, "I
did not know either. And you spoke true; we have little power here. What will
occur is in the hands of the mortals."
"Oh *me*," Mithros said fervently.
* * * *
Cleon thought he was going to go insane when
he saw the village.
They had ridden frantically through silent
empty houses, hearing that unnatural clamour of feral voices while their
horses' hooves thundered fiercely in their ears, kicking up dust.
And then they came to the other side, and the
carnage there made his heart hurt for the horror.
Animals and people were scattered around, and
tired of their prey, the villagers, had turned on one another, maddened by
bloodlust and magic they had no concept of. Creatures snarled and tore at one
another, howls rising balefully into the air. He was glad of the gloom; at
least then he could pretend that those still dark shapes slumped on the ground
were sacks, not living beings.
The creatures were all predators, with hooked
claws and muzzles that dripped liquid darkness. Wolves, most, some large
felines that yowled and arched their backs, some mere cubs that tore frenziedly
at whatever was nearest.
As the creatures saw the Riders, most fled
into the forests around the village, sleek and menacing forms that slid away.
But some remained, their lips skinning back. Growls erupted around them and the
Riders horses shied away. They seemed to be led by a huge black wolf that
towered above the rest by a hand, a wolf with inhumanly red eyes that glowed
like a sullen blood-moon.
"On foot!" Miri shouted. "Have your weapons
to hand *before* you dismount. Ricken, Vanya, load up those crossbows!"
"Aim to kill, " Inness's voice cut in flatly.
Cleon glanced at his liege lord's face and was shocked at the harsh and grim
lines drawn there, like someone had run sharp nails down his skin.
"Are you sure?" Miri said, her bright eyes
wide. She was ashen, Cleon saw, and felt better knowing he wasn't the only one
afraid.
"Hadn't you better make up your
mind...sirs..." The clipped and lazy voice of Joren drawled into the silence.
He looked completely unflustered by the grotesque scene before them. "Those
creatures don't look like they're about to put their feet up and wait for us to
decide."
One leapt, its mouth opening into a red maw.
It sprang with a speed and strength no wolf had, aiming at the mounted Rider
closest. Cleon could only watch it horror, see the fluid grace in its muscles
and realise, staring at its shiny jade eyes that this was nothing human, not
anymore—
A crossbow twanged.
The creature folded in mid-air and hit the
ground, skidding a foot through the dirt before its dusty corpse came to a
halt.
The Rider it had been aiming at gave the
archer, Vanya, shaky thanks.
"Guess we're aiming to kill then," the girl
drawled, reloading her crossbow. She flicked short red hair from her eyes and
sighted at another. "Ready, Miri."
"Dismount," Miri said tersely and they leapt
off, weapons drawn and poised. "Wave-walker guard us, advance."
They walked slowly forward. Cleon could feel
sweat between his shoulders blades and his heartbeat seemed to drown out all
else. He saw a huddled form to one side, messy with blood, and prayed it wasn't
Kel. He had not prayed in a long time, but now he called the name of every god
he knew.
The black wolf raised its head to the
darkening sky, and a liquid, eerie howl poured from its throat like sleek oil,
curling into the air.
Then it lowered its raven head, those red
eyes stoked from within and glowing hot, and charged, its Pack baying behind
it.
Snarling filled his ears and before he knew
it, Cleon was embroiled in a furious, ungainly fight. He struck out wildly,
aiming for glinting, slavering muzzles and slashing claws. He heard distantly
the sharp twang of the bows, saw animals slump to the ground in pooled heaps
and become humans again, waxen in death.
They were winning, he understood suddenly, as
he flung away a wolf that had sunk its teeth into his arm, kicked at some kind
of desert dog that clawed his calf. Bloody but exhausted, the Riders and the
knights were hanging on, striking back.
He lifted his sword again, and then realised
there was nothing left to fight. As he watched, the black wolf slunk into the
woods, leaving only bodies behind.
The silence hit him like a punch. It was a
fey, terrible silence; the hush of a battlefield, broken only by the whimpering
of wounded beasts that stared at them with rabid eyes, the soft curse of a
Rider whose arm had been broken and—
"Two hundred nobles of silk, ruined!" carped
Joren, his cornflower blue eyes horrified. "And *look* at my armour! Saliva
*all* over it, do you have any comprehension of how revoltingly difficult that
is to clean off?"
Cleon was debating between breaking his nose
or breaking his jaw, when Joren looked at his feet and exclaimed even *more*
loudly,
"Well, well, Lady Bruna of Farbrook!" He
sounded positively gleeful. "So she finally found her place; in the dirt."
Miri limped over, rubbing at a scrape on her
cheek. "Is she all right?" she demanded.
Joren gave her a cool look. "People like
Bruna bounce back," he said serenely. "Haven't you heard that scum always
floats to the top?"
Takes one to know one, Cleon thought
silently.
"I didn't ask for a social analysis," Miri
snapped. "Is she injured?"
"There a large pool of blood around her
head," Joren pointed out. "Is she likely to be taking a quick nap? I doubt it."
When he saw Miri's face, with a heavy sigh, as though he couldn't *believe* how
unreasonable the Rider was being, he bent down and had a look at her. "Nothing
a good healer won't cure."
"Good." The brown haired young woman turned
away from Joren. Cleon saw her lips moving silently, and guessed it wasn't
polite praise. "Inness, are those two ours?"
Inness's voice was slightly strangled. "One's
dead," he said, his face bleak. The other's...it's my sister."
And as he turned the suddenly small, fragile
heap over, Cleon's stomach jolted coldly as the head lolled back and he saw the
torn, pallid face of Keladry of Mindelan.
* * * *
The gathering was in full swing when the
Lioness strode in, her purple eyes ablaze with their usual barely repressed fury
at having to spend time with the Court, and the King clapped his hands and
called for a halt to the music.
"What on earth is going on?" Pip whispered to
Neal as they left the dancefloor. They hadn't moved from it for a half-hour at
least, and he was surprised to find his feet didn't ache at all. Still, he
thought, dancing with Pip was a delight; she was graceful as a sylph, and never
stopped cracking jokes and making arch comments on everyone around her. "I've never seen the King stop a dance."
"I don't know," Neal said softly. "But he
called this ball for a reason, and I suppose we're about to discover it."
"Lady Lioness," the King said sharply. "It is
kind of you to grace us with your esteemed presence."
The Lioness glared back, her red hair as fiery
as her temper. "I was washing my hair."
"Where, in Scanra?" the King said, his
sapphire eyes piercing. Neal had to wonder how Lady Alanna managed to hold his
stare. On the other side of the room, he could see her husband, the reckless
baron, hiding a grin.
"Would you get to the point?" the Lioness
demanded as the Court rippled with amusement. "I assume this isn't a social
gathering, despite those out-of-tune musicians."
The King dismissed her with a curt nod.
Alanna spotted Neal and Pip and gave them a wide smile.
"He's so *banal* sometimes," she muttered.
"And may I assume this is Lady ha Minch?"
"Lady ha Minch is my mother," Pip said wryly.
"I'm Phillippa."
Neal could tell from the glance the Lioness
shot him that she approved of Pip. "The one all the squires have been teaching
to fight?"
"They didn't teach me," Pip corrected in a
firm whisper as the King began a welcoming speech – a formality, nothing more,
before he got down to business – "They have expanded my knowledge of ways to
break bones."
"I'm glad to hear it," the Lioness said with
a chuckle. "Long may it continue. Oh, you *are* here," she added to the
attractive, grinning man who had strolled up, light-footed as a cat.
"Phillippa, this is my good-for-nothing husband, Baron George Cooper."
"Good-for-nothin'?" the former thief said
lightly, giving Pip a wink from his hazel eyes. "You weren't sayin' that last
night, lady-me-love."
The Lioness went a colour of furious red as
her husband laughed. "As you can see," he said cheerfully, "my noble lass
hasn't cured me of all my commoner habits yet." He glanced up. "Good job I was
here already," he said with a sigh, "or it would have been a long trip from the
Swoop."
Why Baron Cooper had been there, Neal didn't
know, though he was beginning to suspect that the Lioness's fiendishly
intelligent husband was the man who kept the King so well informed through a
vast network of spies.
"Do you know what this is about?" the Lioness
asked him. She had one hand curled around the sword at her waist, the way she
always did when she was unsure. If there was one thing Neal had learned about
his knight-master, it was her absolute faith in weaponry.
George Cooper lost his smile abruptly. "Aye.
It's not good, lass. I've never heard of the like..."
"The like?" Alanne frowned. "Stop being so
infuriatingly cryptic!"
"Jon's about to explain," the one-time thief
said grimly.
Glancing around, Neal realised the King had
indeed finished his speech and was gazing around his court with solemn eyes. Silence
fell among the nobles, the well-bred and ill-mannered, those dressed in silk
while their people wore rags and those who cared, thankfully, more for their
own people than for gatherings of this nature.
"A new danger has been brought to my
attention," the King said softly. "Courtiers of Tortall, these past years we
have braved fire, fog and flood. Immortals have tried to overwhelm our lands
and failed; magic grows ever more powerful and ever more dangerous. Our
younglings have been lost to war and illness. And out of the ashes, we have
risen again with new alliances and new discoveries. But I fear the darkness is
upon us again."
Neal glanced at Pip, unnerved by this speech.
Her face was intent, her sea-green eyes fixed upon the King.
"The north has fallen," King Jonathon said
quietly. The words fell into the unnatural hush like the thud of an axe, clean
and sharp. "Not to invaders or immortals, but to evil of the highest order. A
new magic has arisen there, a magic which transforms men into beasts."
"Wild magic!" someone called out. Neal
glanced across the room and saw Daine Sarrasri's face, calm and serene. She
must have been told earlier, Neal thought, and realised he hadn't seen her
since he left her hours earlier to prepare for this meeting.
"Not so," answered the King. "This foulness
is made by the slaughter of those with magic. The people of the north have
stolen the powers of countless immortals and Gifted, massacred more than we can
ever truly know. They have forsaken our gods, and follow a tainted religion of
blood and lunacy."
The Court was rapt, paralysed by fear and
curiosity. People huddled closer, unsettled by the solemnity of the King.
Suddenly, their tawdry clothes and gleaming gems seemed out of place.
"We must stop this madness." That stern
sapphire stare swept the mass of nobles. Beside him, Queen Thayet was dignified
and pale as a marble statue. "I learned this news but this morning, and I must
tell you that at least three of our own walk those shadowy paths. Numair Salmalin,
Bruna of Farbrook and Keladry of Mindelan are far from our safety now. But not
for long."
"My liege!" The Lioness's voice rang out. Her
purple eyes were brilliant with emotion. "A question."
"Champion," the King acknowledged.
"You say that these people have magic that
allows them to become beasts. How can we fight this? I mean no offence to
Daine, but having seen her fight, I must say I would be hard-pushed to fight
one shapeshifter, let alone many, even with the Gift."
The King nodded his dark head. "True, Lioness, but from what I have been told, few of these people have any great control over what form they take. They are untrained in the arts of magic, and we know too well that magic is never easy to control."
"What do you propose?"
"First," the King said grimly, "I must have
the name of all who are here tonight. The leader of these...I hesitate to call
them people, for no human being would do such abominable deeds...this group, is
a noble."
There was a shocked outcry at that. The King
held up a hand. "It is true. I myself spoke to a runner from one of the
villages who took flight when he saw what was happening. Had he arrived sooner,
we might have been able to save some of
our Gifted. Those of you whose lands lie to the north must return as soon as
possible. I will send knights and soldiers with you to protect your lands."
He looked around. "You will meet no immortals
on your way. All immortals are gone from the northern lands. I will send mages
with each of you, but be aware that the mages are likely to be the first
attacked, so must be the most closely guarded. I would ask that you do not kill
unless you must."
The sapphire eyes darkened almost to black.
"But whatever the cost, we must erase this reign of bloodshed from our land."
* * * *
Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? All would be
loved!
Ki
~ The sweetest flowers are soonest gone. ~
Please excuse the slight weirdness in my
comments a) I'm chocolate deprived (given up for Lent) b) I got my exam results
c) I'm sleep deprived d) I'm in shock e) I'm listening to Dido.
Oh, something I just thought of: From March
24th to March 31st, I will be away; on the 24th
I'm going to take a look round a university and from the 25th to the
31st I'm in Normandy, France, chaperoning some Lower Fourths with my
school. So I'll try to get a part out the day before I leave and the day I get
back. *Try*.
My completely gob-smacked, utterly elated
thanks go out to the following:
The asombraso
Ariana: I hope that's the right word, I'm sure it is! How many characters I do
or don't kill off depends what sort of mood I'm in when I write it :-) My evil
teachers (minions, all of them!) have given me yet more work! But still,
holidays in another five weeks...I missed you too! I wouldn't say I'm back in
the land of the living – just the not-so-obviously-gone. Huge thanks!
The awesome
Arylia: Wow, phenomenal review :-) Thanks! Your story sounds fascinating –
sure, I'd love to look over it and beta it for you. If you email it to me (kiananw@hotmail.com) I'll gte it done as
soon as I can. You'll have to be patient with me though – my schoolwork is
really *loaded* on me at the mo, so it may take a while (ie a week or two) The
reason the names are ordinary ::grins:: is that if you chance to look at
anything else I've written, the names are pretty out-there. I figured I might
give everyone a break and go for normality for once! Cariad? That's Welsh for darling,
n'est-pas? Thank you very much!
The ever-cheery
Chip: Thanks :-) be as evil as you want, the world would be so boring if we
were all perfectly angelic...you know, being evil and chirpy is a
gift...anyways, here is the 'more' promised; I hope you liked it!
The dervish Daine:
Into the fire…it's a song (a brilliant song) by Sarah McLachlan :-) I've never
seen or read the Scarlet Pimpernel (that song suggests I've been deprived!)
Hopefully, (fingers crossed!) I'll get into writing one day...someday...hey,
don't apologise for not reviewing – I don't expect it, and it's always a
wonderful surprise when you do. Cheers!
The dulcet Dead
Flower: Yes, it really *did* just happen :-) The author strikes again! Yup, Mr
Evil is Bruna's father, and he really made her childhood a misery. Pip's rumour
spreading was a riot to write ;-) being creative is so much fun!
The dazzling Dee:
Oh, read the Kel books! They're brilliant! I have yet to decide if they're as
good as / better than Alanna and Daine's quartets, but they're still wonderful
books :-) Neal and Kel...in the books I have read, Kel's crush on Neal is
unreciprocated...I'm wondering if she / Neal will be an item or if (as it looks
to be) it'll be Kel / Cleon. Ryan and Pip are just characters I created :-) They
aren't like anyone really :;shrugs:: He is really dead. Happy homeworking :-)
if there is such a thing! Cheers!
The delectable DJ Dim Sims: Alanna...I have
the feeling she was out riding at that point, I could be wrong; but I don't
think she'd have gone with them as she's Champion first and a mage second. Thanks!
The divine Draco:
::grins:: Thank you so much! I'm ecstatic that you like the story (you know,
the fact that anything remotely useful or likable falls out of my head always
surprises me) and hope you enjoy the rest of it!
The glorious
Galli-vi: Thank you so much for such a thoughtful review! ::glows:: I'm highly
of the opinion that the path of true love is in fact a thin dirt track covered
with all sorts of nasty obstacles :-) Leastways, that's how I write it!
(hopefully). I have a lot of fun thinking up the plots, and it certainly
distresses me a lot. It's my escape, and a wonderful one it is too :-) Here's
to *you*, and this place!
The heartening
Harkly: Well, I don't know about *okay*...Ryan's still a tad deceased.
::grins:: Bruna: I feel quite sorry for her...I mean, her dad's not exactly Mr
Sane and Well-Balanced '01...it's nice to know someone else doesn't hate her
entirely too! Oprah...I have to confess, I have never seen Oprah…Springer is
the closest I've got (I don't think Oprah's on in the UK, is it?) And
worryingly, my spellchecker is not seeing anything wrong with Oprah...has she
infiltrated even Microsucks Word?
The halcyon Heavengirl:
Ryan and Kel didn't feature much in this part, I'm afraid, due to his certain
lack of response (ie breathing g), but I hoped you still liked the
story anyway! Thanks!
The jazzy Jenn:
Gods, it must have taken you a while to read that! Wow, thanks :-) I'm glad you
liked it; I'm afraid my cliffhanger obsession does seem have control of me, but
well, it gives me something to write and you something to...well, to be annoyed
about...and wonder about.
The jiggy Jinx:
Well...they're *sort* of dead...in a technical sense. I have to wait until
*April* to read Squire? Ohhh…so long... Pip's spunky and feminine :-) I figure
you can still be a noble but not have to be a warrior, yet retain some
semblance of kick-ass-ity and brains. Let's hope it works! Thanks muchly!
The kosher Karalea
Ethereal: What a great name :-) Well, ryanisdeadryanisdeadryanisdead. Whether
he stays that way is another matter altogether. ::grins:: It's great to know
you like his character! (he's certainly fun to write). Hmm, I don't know how
the romances will work out as of yet, though I guess I'll find out as I go!
Thank you so much – and for being so patient!
The kick-ass Kira:
Congrats on the signing – are they really dead? Well…yes and no. Depends on
your point of view. Thank you for such patience, and for telling me you enjoy
the story :-) It brightens my day!
The luminous
Larzdinn: Hey, don't apologising for not reviewing! I don't demand tribute (I'm
saving that for when I'm supreme ruler of the cosmos.) but am always
exceptionally grateful when someone reviews :-) If you read all the chapters in
one weekend - *wow*. This is one hella-long story! Ryan died in the name
of...uh...well, sadism. But the show, the plot and the story go on, and who
knows what'll happen? (Not me.) Writing widens my vocabulary too :-) Thank you
very much! Hoping you enjoy the rest!
The lovely Leap:
Hiya :-) Thanks for reviewing – and for telling me you liked the story, it
really cheered me up! ::grins:: My Internet shuts off on me all the time (It's
*so* annoying!). There are times when I think it should be renamed Hellnet
instead of Dellnet. Thanks!
The lively Lily
Potter: Argh! Please don't hurt me! Look, I didn't kill him *intentionally*, it
just happened...the story took me over! I was possessed...I've hurried as much
as I could! (Curse homework!) Thank you!
The marvellous
Magelet: Thanks for commenting :-) What's up with Andrea? A whole range of
things, but I think you just found out the main one! What happens to her in the
next part gets interesting (okay, I haven't written it yet, but I'm going to
*make* it interesting.)
The many-minded
Maple: To my count, I have killed off at least three main characters (in other
stories) to date. And at least another two are heading for the chop (like so
many sheep and cows over here at the moment, Foot-and-mouth ::sigh::) You are
free to clone Ryan if you wish :-)Thank you very, very much!
The melodious Mel:
Thank you :-) I'm sorry it took me this long to get the next part out – life
decided it would elbow in with jobs and essays and exams in general, but it
really made my week a lot better to know you liked the story. Thanks!
The natty Naavi:
I'm sorry, but cliffhangers seem to have become my trademark...maybe there's
therapy for it? Like...abseiling...maybe I should get more sleep :-) Anyway,
thank you so much for all the compliments – they made me go scarlet! I hope
this chapter wasn't a let-down!
The outstanding
Onua: Hiya! Three is everyone's very very very lucky number :-) – old proverb,
what you say three times is true,. So thank you, thank you, thank you!
::grins:: Sure I'll continue, but I have *no* objection at all to you saying
that! (I'm mad, but not that mad!) Thanks for commenting!
The quixotic
Quartz: Coathangers, huh? ::grins:: Heart attacks are good for you!
They...they...okay, they aren't, but I was trying to be optimistic! Easy?
We-ell, not always, it's only easy when you know where you're going (you know,
this could explain my life...) I wouldn't stop, don't worry...I just get
delayed occasionally! Ice-cream...what I wouldn't give for some Hagen
Daaz…mmm... Merci beaucoup!
The pukka
Perfect1: Thanks :-) Well, me and my stupid cliffhangers...what can I say, it's
a habit. Still, as long as you liked the rest! It's always worth writing when
you can feel that you've made someone react...(even if it is because they're
completely disgusted.)
The superlative
Shannon Cooper: Ryan must suffer for my art :-) I have been known to randomly
kill off main characters...but really, I'm not that cruel! And I have treat
TP's characters with care, for the sake of continuity! Thanks everso – I'm
overjoyed that you liked (and didn't!) it.
The splendid
Silver Mist Tigress: I'm glad it was worth waiting for – I just wish y'all
didn't have to wait! (This week I am evermore weighed down with essays, maths
exercises, economics assignments...*why* did I choose those subjects??) I try
to make the plot unpredictable! It makes it interesting for you, and gives me
something to do in those highly boring French lessons...thanks!
The sparkling
Silver Sereph: Maybe you should learn to love cliffhangers... :-) They are, of
course, the ultimate power-trip for anyone who writes (well, if you can't have
world domination...), and being the power-happy maniac I am (or so people tell
me...), I like 'em! Well, yes, I killed him, but...it's for the greater good!
Really!
The spectacular
Sulia: Thanks for your patience :-) By the way, does Serafine mean wolf? (I was
just wondering this because I saw it in a book called Carpe Jugulum, about werewolves,
and well...it's my bizarre question for the day...) It's great to know you like
the story! Thank you!
The 'specially
superb Sparrow: Of course you are superb! It's true, romance is catching,
rather like a plague :-) But it's so much fun to write! Nah, the thanks will
enver be longer than the story because (as you might have spotted) the story
gets longer each part, due to all the fabulous inspiration you guys give me. So
no danger there! :-) Kel and Neal...I'll put on my best impression of Charlie Sheen
in Friends: 'I really can't say'.
The terrific
Tasidia: Thanks, I'm absolutely thrilled that you like the story! Thank you for
the idea :-) It's given me some great inspiration! (Mind you, I have no idea
what Kel wants...or Bruna...this is what comes of not planning!)
The tremendous Team Socket: All is about to
be revealed :-) And yes…I would really kill him! Thank you!
The ever-happy :o)
: *I* didn't kill him, the person who killed him, killed him. I just happened
to write it. See? Not my fault at all :-) Do you have the Net in your school?
::thinks:: Wish we did. Thank you!